


Happy 79th

by TheFalconWarrior



Series: Touch the Sky [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Batman and the Signal (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Crazy family traditions, Family Feels, Fluff, Four?, Gen, It May or May Not be Dick's Birthday, One of Three Anyways, and cheese, batfam being batfam, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFalconWarrior/pseuds/TheFalconWarrior
Summary: It's Dick's birthday. They celebrate the best they can.





	Happy 79th

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is what happened:  
Me: I feel like I'm forcing my writing so I think it's time to take a break. I've got lots of other stuff that needs to get done, so I guess that works out.  
My brain: HEY HEY IMAGINE THIS  
Me: Well damn.
> 
> Anyways. Featuring Newbie Duke, Dad Bruce, Quesadilla Dick, sibling stuff, wayyy too much cheese, a lack of editing and my ability to start with hey-I-just-wanna-write-a-short-thing-about-a-crazy-tradition and end up with this 10+ page...thing.

Duke walks into the kitchen to find the Red Hood frosting cake. 

He’s been living in Wayne Manor, working with the 'batfamily', for a while now, but Duke is starting to think it will take him a_ lifetime _to really get used to them. Maybe multiple lifetimes. 

Of course, it isn’t_ really _the Red Hood standing in the Manor kitchen. There is no, well, red hood, or even a leather jacket, to be seen. 

It’s Jason Todd standing in the kitchen, in jeans and a dark green hoodie with the sleeves shoved up, leaned over a chocolate cake that he is painstakingly covering with electric blue frosting. 

Still._ Red Hood_. 

“Whatcha want,” Jason grumbles, not looking up, and Duke startles a little. 

“That’s a really blue cake,” he blurts out, and winces. 

Jason snorts, but it sounds...amused? 

“Yeah, it’s practically tradition by now.” 

Duke blinks. “For?” 

“Dickiebird’s B-day, of course.” 

“It’s Dick’s birthday?” 

“Yup,” Jason pops the _p_, then sticks his tongue out as he leans further over the cake. 

“Oh. Today?” 

“Mm-hm.” 

“Oh.” He thinks about the man on bedrest up in his bedroom at the moment. “That sucks.” 

“Mm-hm.” 

“We used to have a party,” and Duke_ just barely _stops himself from jumping—God, how long does it take to develop bat-senses? He can’t wait—as Red Robin—Tim, as Tim—speaks up from behind him. He smiles apologetically as he passes Duke into the kitchen, and Duke fights the heat warming his face. “But in recent years October’s been something of a bad month for all of us. So we usually postpone until November.” 

“Oh. I see.” 

Jason snorts. “You’ll like it. It’s a veritable who’s-who of the superhero community.” 

It's Tim’s turn to snort as he perches himself on the counter using one hand—the other arm is in a sling hugged to his chest. “Who uses the word_ veritable _while talking?” 

“Snotty rich boys like you,” Jason retorts. 

Tim snickers. “Upper middle class.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“So...” Tim tilts his head to look at Duke (like a bird—ugh) and Jason grunts acknowledgement, now apparently engrossed in carving some kind of symbols into the frosting. “Should I have like. Gotten a present or something?” 

Tim smiles, leaning back against the cabinet behind him. “Nah. We don’t really do presents for birthdays. I mean, everyone usually brings something or the other to the party, but like, us, on the actual day?” 

Jason snorts again. “Yeah, sitting around the tree holding hands and tearing wrapping paper is reserved for Christmas. Once a year and no more.” 

“Birthdays we exchange favors instead,” Tim offers. 

“Or deals,” Jason adds. 

“Kinda more like promises,” Tim says, wrinkling his nose. “Blackmail exchanges, sometimes. I’m pretty sure that’s what Babs is doing this year.” 

“Ah, damn. Any idea who the unlucky sucker is?” 

“Not yet, no,” Tim admits. He reaches out a socked foot and pokes Jason in the arm. The older man squawks (_squawk__s_) indignantly, pulling away from the cake and throwing a wet paper towel smeared with electric blue frosting at his brother. 

“_Watch the cake_, idiot!” 

Tim looks completely unrepentant. “What’re you doing this year?” 

“I finished his case for him,” Jason mutters, eying the cake critically. And disparagingly. Duke doesn’t quite get it. It looks fine to him. 

“The one that got interrupted when he went down?” 

“Mm-hm.” 

“The one we would have had to finish for him anyways.” 

“I’m making the cake. Shut up. What are _you_ doing?” 

Tim reaches out and swipes a fingerful of frosting from the bowl as Jason halfheartedly smacks his hand away. “Redid his security codes._ Bruce_’ll have a hard time hacking through those beauties.” 

“Yeah, let’s see how long they last before Oracle hacks them just for the sake of it.” 

“Hey, let a man have his pride for a while, would ya?” Tim smirks. The frosting has stained his lips blue and the third Robin—second best detective on Earth, feared vigilante—looks disturbingly like a child who’s just had a blueberry lollipop. “Cass is gracing us with her presence, Steph offered patrol swaps for the next month.” 

“Patrol swaps?” Duke interrupts, and Tim nods. 

“Yeah, you know, if you end up paired with someone you’d really rather strangle at the moment.” Duke sighs internally. Bats and their violent metaphors that aren’t always quite as metaphorical as he would have liked. “I’m just glad I talked her out of free pranking services, cause we all know how_ that_ is likely to end. Not sure what Damian is planning.” 

“His good behavior?” Jason suggests dryly, and Tim snorts. 

“We wouldn’t be so lucky.” 

Duke backs out of the door, glad that no one had brought attention to the idea that _he_ would probably have to come up with a gift for the original Robin. 

Because in spite of Jason and Tim’s teasing tones, he thinks of Jason’s careful attention to the cake, and wonders how long it would’ve taken Tim to update Dick’s securities to _Bat-proof. _There is actual..._love_, in those presents, though he gets the feeling that that was a word few of the bats would use to describe it. 

And he doesn’t know Dick Grayson as well as the crazy family he’s found himself a part of, obviously, but he_ was_ one of those Gotham kids who watched the sky for Robin. Who’d watched Nightwing and the Teen Titans on the news and was in awe of the teens who could go out there and make such a difference. And he eventually even came to step into a role as a...junior partner in a tradition that had started with Dick Grayson, the first Robin himself. 

For all that? He wants his gift to_ mean_ something. 

Damn. A card would’ve been so much easier. 

Tim bounds up the stairs and down the hall, stopping to stick his head through the only half-open door. “Hey, Dick, you awake?” 

The older man smiles tiredly from the bed. “Hey, Little Brother.” He’s pulled up his blankets so most the bandages are covered, but Tim can still remember how they look—wrapped around and around cuts and bruises, so many so close that his brother had looked like a bad mummy costume. 

“How’s your arm?” Dick asks as Tim steps inside, approaching the bed. 

Tim raises an eyebrow, eying the IVs disappearing under the blanket. “Alright, all things considered.” 

Dick huffs a laugh. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.” 

Tim fidgets a little, then, slowly—a little shyly—reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a photograph. “I found a good one.” 

Dick’s face lights up. “Ooh, let’s see it.” 

Tim comes closer, settling himself at the edge of the bed next to his brother, and holds up the photo. 

Batman stood atop a rooftop, cape billowing, a dark outline against the Gotham skyline. But behind him, Nightwing was making a face, hand in the middle of some gesture, and next to him Robin—Jason—stood with a green gloved hand hiding half his mouth, although the smirk still showed through his fingers and after years of this job they can both see the laughter clear in his face despite the domino. 

“Yeah, that’s a great one,” Dick says softly, and Tim turns to find his older brother looking him full in the face, eyes and smile warm. Tim ducks his head, feeling a smile of his own spread across his face. 

“You could make a great exhibition with all these, you know,” Dick laughs. 

“Hm.” Tim shakes his head a little, still smiling. “That’s--it was never why I took them, you know.” 

“I know.” Dick bumps their shoulders together. “You should do this stuff more often, Tim. You’re good at it. And it looks like you have fun.” 

“Yeah.” Tim presses back against his shoulder. He still takes pictures, sometimes, and he enjoys it, but he hasn’t taken them with the desperate, almost obsessive tendencies he had as a kid. 

He...doesn’t feel the_ need_ to. Hasn’t in a long time. (Not since Dick gave him the same smile he’d worn back when they were eight and two, and called him Robin, and Little Brother.) 

“Maybe I will.” 

Jason is halfway up the stairs when he spots Tim heading down the hall. 

“Oy, replacement!” he hollers, “Alf is asking if Dickie wants fruit punch or iced tea!” 

“Ask him yourself, I gotta go!” Tim yells over his shoulder, and three seconds later the bathroom door slams shut. 

Jason rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath about little brothers with attitudes as he trudges the rest of the way up the stairs. He already regrets so loudly announcing his presence with his yelling, but he’d thought that he’d be able to retreat right back to the kitchen. He and the Big Man aren’t exactly on speaking terms since an _incident_ two nights ago, when Jason just felt _so sick_ of the constant suspicion that he felt wasn’t really warranted anymore. Especially not when he was in Gotham, he’s made his promises and _unlike some people he knows_ Jason is a man of his word. 

Anyways. Jason had popped into the manor to make the cake in Alfred’s kitchen, but he’d planned to hole up in there most the day. Sure it’s Dickie’s birthday but he supposes no one can really expect Bruce_ not_ to wander _his own house_, and it’s Dickie’s birthday. 

He slips into his older brother’s room. Dick has been waiting for him, apparently, because he is already watching the door, head tilted and small smile on his face. 

“Orangeade.” 

“What?” Jason wrinkles his nose. “No. Ew. None of that gross shit, Dickie.” 

Dick smirks. “Orangeade isn’t gross, Jay. And it’s my_ birthday_.” 

Jason points a finger at him. “It’s_ lemonade, _not limeade, not orangeade, not grapefruitade or whatever the hell other kind of dumb thing you might come up with. And if you ask Alf for it I swear to God I will spike your piece of birthday cake with something nasty.” 

Dick tosses a pillow at him, and he’s just fast enough that Jason barely sways in time to avoid it. “Party pooper.” 

Jason scoops the pillow off the floor, pulling back to aim it—then pauses, eying the IV stands surrounding his brother and the bandages winding up his arms, disappearing into the short sleeves of his T-shirt. (He feels something sour rise in his throat. No matter how they spend their nights, how often he’s seen his family like this and _worse_, it’s not something you ever get used to.) 

Busy in his own thoughts, he misses the pillow that smacks him in the face. “The hell--” he catches it before it hits the floor, glaring at his grinning brother. “You are_ such _an opportunist.” 

He comes closer to dump the pillows on the bed, making sure to half-smother Dick with one before dropping it in his lap. Dick just laughs and sticks his tongue out at him. 

It’s at that moment that Jason catches sight of the photograph lying on the nightstand. One of Tim’s, no doubt—but there’s three figures and not two so he reaches out (almost tentatively) and lifts it. 

He feels the tension he hadn’t realized was melting away, rise back to his shoulders. 

“I kinda wish Tim would give me blackmail one day,” Dick says, interrupting his thoughts. Jason looks up to meet his eyes. He is smiling, but it is small and a little sad, like he knows what kind of thoughts are running through Jason’s head but also knows he really doesn’t want to talk about them right now. “I know he has some in that collection of his.” 

Jason nods, glancing at the picture again before putting it down. “Yeah. Probably.” (Weird as it is, he thinks he remembers that day. Although it could have been one of many. Batman being his sanctimonious self, giving some order. Nightwing, mocking him the moment his back was turned. And himself (_Robin_) snickering at the scene. Sometimes joining in.) 

Dick nods meaningfully at the photo. “Once I’m no longer laid up in here, I’ve got some_ ideas_.” 

“Pfft. Just so ya know, Dickie, your ideas are always terrible.” To be honest, he isn’t sure if he’s talking about stealing Tim’s blackmail or. You know. Bruce. 

(He knows he’s feeling bitter, so he won’t ask._ Yes_, he can do tact, thank you very much.) 

“Well, if _you_ come up with anything and I can play a role from the comfort of my bed, I’ll help.” And oh, yes, he’s definitely talking about Bruce. And it warms Jason a little, to realize Dick at least feels Jason has a right to be upset about Bruce’s suspicions. 

“I’ll keep you in the loop. Maybe.” He pokes his brother in the head. “Now seriously, fruit punch or iced tea, and if you say anything else I’m stealing your choices and telling Alfred you asked for iced tea.” 

Cass steps out of the taxi and tilts her head back. She doesn’t know why, but she finds looking _up _at buildings fascinating to this day. 

She dances up the drive and to the door, fumbling through the messenger bag slung over her shoulder for a key she hasn’t used in a month. Throws open the door and skips inside. 

She steps into the foyer, closes her eyes and tilts back her head. The manor is quiet at the moment. It smells like chocolate cake—Jason's, not Alfred’s. No one comes to greet her, which tells her Bruce is probably in his study and not the cave, Alfred is likely in the middle of something in the kitchen, Damian did not skip school today, and Tim and Jason...well. There is a lot those two could be up to. 

First things first. She’ll hunt everyone down for hellos later, but right now she takes the stairs two at a time to the top and makes for the third door on the right. 

There is some show playing on the TV set in the wall in front of the bed—something bright and flashy—but it’s the figure in the bed that takes her attention. She frowns. Dick looks to be asleep. There are two IV stands at either side of his bed and a light blanket pulled up to his neck, but one hand rests on top of the blanket. The arm is covered in bandages and two of his fingers are splinted. 

He is still, but not relaxed, and it makes something inside of Cass hurt. 

She ghosts over to the bed and stands over him. Reaches out to just barely brush her fingers over his forehead. 

He furrows his brow, squeezes his eyes shut tightly before slowly blinking them open, staring blearily up at her for just a moment before a wide, warm smile spreads over his face. “Cass!” 

She beams back, and for a moment they just stand there, grinning at each other. (She knows how Dick loves the words—the _acknowledgement_, he never asks it from anyone but she sees his whole being light up when anyone offers. But she loves the moments like these, between the two of them, when there’s simply no _need_ for words because they both understand.) 

When he carefully slips his arms out from under the blankets and holds them out, Cass leans in to wrap her arms carefully around his neck, feeling his settle over her back. 

(It’s not one of Dick’s usual hugs—there’s too much careful in it—but still. It feels like home.) 

On a normal day, Damian will usually accompany Alfred into the kitchen once he returns from school. Pennyworth always has a small repast prepared and will often sit down to share it with Damian, before he returns to his butler duties and Damian deposits his backpack in his bedroom and heads down to the cave for an hour of training before doing his homework. 

Today, Damian opts to put away the bag _first_, and join Pennyworth after. It’s on the way to his room that he stops in to check on Richard—make sure the man is still alive and their imbecilic brothers haven’t somehow managed to kill him. 

(Well, this is_ Drake_ he is talking about. And Todd. Granted, Pennyworth and Father were present but...well all this is besides the point. Or isn’t. He is just—never mind.) 

Grayson looks the same as he had earlier in the day (when Damian had checked in on him on his way down to get to the car for school (after coming upstairs a third time because this time he’d forgotten an important assignment)). The IVs and blankets are still in place, but the man is awake and turns his head to face Damian as he approaches the doorway. 

“Hey Dames,” he greets with a smile. 

“Richard,” Damian responds. “I am pleased to see your condition has not...deteriorated.” 

Grayson’s lips twitch. “Me too.” 

“I wanted to inform you,” Damian begins, “Of your birthday favor. I will be lending you Titus and Alfred the Cat to keep you company through the duration of your bedrest.” 

“Aw, thanks, Dami.” The smile is genuine and not condescending in the least, and Damian feels a wave of relief through him. 

Stephanie had_ cooed_, when he told her of his present. Damian was not trying to be cute. He understood loneliness, and he understood Grayson’s especial need for company. And after today, Todd would be back off to wherever-he-went doing whatever-he-did, Cain would eventually return to Hong Kong, whilst the rest of them—himself, Drake, Thomas, father, even Pennyworth—would be required to scatter for school, work, and simple errands. 

And during that time, Grayson would be alone. Well, no longer. 

Grayson appears to see the true intention behind Damian’s favor, and_ appreciates_ it. 

(Damian could ask for little more.) 

“Tim and Cass went down for snacks, we’re watching Star Wars. Wanna join?” 

Damian decides it wouldn’t hurt for his backpack to take up residence in the corner of Grayson’s room for the next few hours. 

Bruce looks over the many windows open on his computer and smiles to himself. Everything necessary to make one Dick Grayson ‘regrettably’ unable to attend the March Thanksgiving Gala. 

He’s quite aware of his children’s 'birthday favors' system, and he likes to quietly put in his own. 

He knows his children all hate the social parties he drags them to as a necessity of life as a supposedly 'normal' billionaire family. Sure, some are good as sources of information, others are actually labelled as enjoyable (mostly for trolling opportunities—the Jason Todd Memorial Gala is a favorite), but in general? 

They will all _run_ to the other side of Gotham, first chance they get. 

Dick is the least likely to weasel out of them, although he _will_ often cover for one of his siblings making an escape. 

Bruce appreciates it. Really. 

He doesn’t like the social events either. Having Dick as backup helps. 

And that’s why he’s arranging an out for him for the March Gala (which is high on the_ AFAP _AKA _Get __As__ Far Away As Possible_ list). The Marches have hosted that party for as long as Bruce can remember. They have also been snobbish pricks as long as he can remember. 

Although it’s something he’d really realized full-force the first time he’d taken eight-year-old Dickie Grayson to his first event outside Wayne Manor. The little boy was a showman and already a great actor, but Bruce could see through the smile and know he had heard the whispers. 

In the privacy of his study, he smiles wistfully, remembering the little ball of energy that had once practically filled the Manor with his presence alone. He loves all the kids he’s taken in, as his own—as hard as it is for him to admit the words out loud. But most of them had been a little older when they joined his not-so-little-anymore family. 

Dick, though. Dick had been a kid still. And although he’d had parents, although in those first few years Bruce had been careful (maybe a little_ too_ careful) in his attempts not to ‘replace’ them, Dick had, in a way, been Bruce’s to raise. 

He knows, he was clueless. He knows that Alfred, amazing as he is, had also been in on the learning process. He regrets that he_ still_ can’t quite be everything his kids need him to be. But he is so grateful, and so _proud_, of the young man who somehow managed to turn out as strong and warm as Dick is. 

Despite the scuffles and fights over the years, Dick has been there with Bruce, all this time, almost from the beginning. His first Robin. His first partner. His first son. 

Someone clears their throat loudly, and he looks up to see Alfred standing in the doorway. 

“Master Jason plans to take the cake up to Richard’s room soon.” 

Ah, Jason. Bruce had...overreacted, a few nights earlier. He was trying to give the young man his space, today. For Dick’s sake, as well as Jason’s. (And although he’d never admit it, maybe also his own.) 

He nods at Alfred, rising from his seat and following him down the hall. 

There’s portraits—relatively newer portraits—lining the walls here, and he stops in front of one, Alfred halting next to him. 

It’s a portrait of eight-year-old Dick, all messy black hair, big blue eyes, and beaming smile. Bruce remembers that day. Wondering if Dick physically_ couldn’t _sit still. 

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we Alfred?” 

Alfred’s voice is warm as he answers. “Indeed we have, Master Bruce.” 

Tim and Cass are already in Dick’s room, perched on the bed with him with A New Hope playing on the TV, when Jason kicks the door open and marches in, carrying the electric blue cake. It’s covered in candles, looks like Jason had stuffed as many as he could fit onto the surface (he had). 

“Was that truly necessary, Master Jason,” Alfred asks mildly, following with a large pitcher of dark brown iced tea (homemade, of course). Damian clicks his tongues as he rounds up the parade with a tray of glasses. 

“Probably not, sorry Alfie,” Jason says with a grin, setting the cake down onto the desk. Cass jumps off the bed to help him drag the table closer to the bed, whilst Tim glances a little ruefully down at his arm and gives them an apologetic look. 

“It looks awesome, Jay,” Dick says with a smile. 

Duke skids into the room, stack of plates in hand, an amused Bruce trailing behind him. “Sorry, almost tripped over Alfred the Cat and—wow, that’s a lot of candles.” 

Jason winks at him. “Tradition.” 

There’s a knock at the window, and Cass steps over to shove it open. Stephanie tumbles in, eggplant and blond hair and excited chattering. “Sorry I’m late! Babs sends her love but something came up, she’ll be here in an hour or so but says to go on without her.” 

They gather around the desk, and Dick stares at the field of fire over the cake and sighs. 

“How many times am I gonna have to blow before they all actually go out?” 

“Five,” Steph announces. 

“Six,” says Cass. 

“Seven,” Jason smirks. 

“Eight,” Tim puts in with a grin. 

Duke glances at Damian, who rolls his eyes. 

Dick shakes his head and makes a face. “Really, Jay, I’m _injured_. No chance you could’ve made it easier?” 

“Nope,” Jason says, proudly. 

“You know, he’s gonna be blowing across the cake we’re gonna eat, that’s kinda gross...” 

“Oh, ew. Don’t eat the top frosting, I guess.” 

“Boys,” Alfred coughs, and they all grin at him (Steph and Cass included). 

“You’ve already had this conversation before,” Bruce reminds them, lip twitching and eyebrow raised. “And multiple times before that.” 

“So in other words, shut up and blow the candles already?” Steph grins. 

There’s a few laughs, and Dick finally blows out the candles. 

“Happy 79th, Dick,” Tim beams, and Jason splutters. 

“You did _not_ count all the candles from over there.” 

Tim lifts his chin. “And here’s why I’m the detective of our bunch.” 

“Tt. We are all detectives, Drake.” 

“Some better than others.” 

“You know what I’d love? If one year you guys pooled together and gave me one day without a headache for my birthday.” 

“Tough luck, Dickie.” 

“Aw, Dick, you know you love us.” 

“I don’t know. I wonder, sometimes.” 

Cass shoves him (gently). “Liar,” she says, and Dick laughs. 

“Got me all figured out, huh Cass?” 

“Course I do. I’m your favorite.” 

“Cass, please don’t start a war with your siblings.” 

Dick leans against his pillows, yawning. It’s late and he’s tired but he’s not ready to close his eyes just yet. 

He glances around his bedroom, smiling. Bruce had left when night fell, saying_ someone_ had to be out for patrol, and Alfred had left soon after, telling them that he’d be heading to bed and they _young people_ could continue their late-night partying. 

It wasn’t much, really. A couple of movies and card games. Telling embarrassing stories, pointless argument/debates. But a lot of laughs. 

Barbara, who, true to her word, had showed up an hour after cutting the cake (which had disappeared, over the course of the night), left about two hours ago. After that, they’d put on a movie and mostly just sat together, quietly. 

Now, it’s just him and his siblings and Steph. Cass is still sitting by his shoulder, back to the headboard, knees pulled up, head tilted back, fast asleep. She’s always been able to sleep in the strangest positions. Jason, who’d been sitting on the floor by the side of the bed right next to Cass, is still there, one arm resting on the mattress and his head on top. Tim is curled up at the end of the mattress by Dick’s feet (Dick tells himself not to worry about the broken arm), and he can see Steph’s head from where she’s sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, Damian’s head on her shoulder and her own head tilted against his. Steph will crow over it and Damian will deny it when they wake up, but for now they are peaceful and quiet. 

Duke is the only one still awake. He’s perched cross-legged on the desk—a little space between himself and the rest of them. He turns his head and Dick catches his eyes, giving him a quiet smile. Kid’s still new to their brand of bat-crazy, still a little uncomfortable, a little awkward. He’ll slot right in, though, Dick knows. They all did. He swears their crazy is contagious and Duke’s got the spunk to join right in one day. 

Duke shifts a little under his gaze and Dick realizes (a little embarrassed) that he’s been staring. “So,” Duke starts. “That was nice.” 

“Yeah,” Dick agrees. “It was.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments, and Dick’s mind begins to drift toward Bruce, probably just coming in from patrol, before Duke speaks again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t put together a present. I...kinda just found out this morning.” 

Dick chuckles. “Hey, no worries.” He glances around the room again, at all his siblings slumped and relaxed around him, and feels his smile soften. “I mean, the favors thing is fun and all, but honestly?” He jerks his head a bit, trying to indicate everything around them. “_This_ is the important part. Everyone _being_ here. Even if some of us are fighting, or can’t exactly be in the same room without being a bit jerkish—everyone just putting that aside, for a bit, so we can all be here. Together. As a family.” He feels a familiar warmth fill him and smiles a little wider. “You, Jay, Tim, Dami, Cass, B, Alfred, Steph and Babs. Having all of you guys here? That’s the best present I can ever get.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo I think of Dick's three birthdays (four if you count the YJ one?) November 11 and March 20 (21?) are the most common ones. So let's mix it up a bit huh?  
(In other words, I had Dick's birthday written down as October 24th in another doc because I was gonna use the one from a certain continuity but messed up. Heh.)  
Okay so. I KNOW Duke is a lot more savvy around the batfam than I give him credit for. But writing him with the slightly confuddled, These people are all INSANE attitude he’d let slip in Robin War and when the Robins decide to go after Bane is just too much fun.


End file.
